


To Smile at Pain

by Chichirinoda



Category: Baccano!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-24
Updated: 2010-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire confirms his suspicions that Luck is immortal, and he'd really, really like to try a few things. Luck can't resist those puppy eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Smile at Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) for the prompt "Painplay (other)".

The outdoor cafe was pleasant and warm in the summer heat as Luck sipped his coffee and watched Claire, his chair tipped back so far it would have been precarious for anyone else, and his feet resting on the lip of their table. He'd been talking a mile a minute about the beautiful girl he met on the Flying Pussyfoot, how he was going to go out to Manhattan any day now and find her, and what a glorious romance it would be.

The sound of his voice was almost soothing, a comforting and familiar background drone, but not enough to cover the click of a round chambering in the gun their waiter held hidden under the hanging towel draped over his arm. The man had tried to disguise the sound under a cough, while topping up their coffee cups, but it was a poor effort, and his hand trembled so badly that coffee was spilling onto the white linen in little drips and spatters.

Luck reacted without thinking, instantly shooting up from his chair and overturning the table onto the waiter, who fell backwards with a cry. The gun spilled out of his hand and clattered across the floor as scalding hot coffee spread across the flagstones. Claire, unsurprised by the motion, sat up, the legs of his chair hitting the ground hard.

That should have been it, but there were two more waiters - not really waiters, no waiter at an establishment like this would wear brown pants instead of black, and their shirts were threadbare and would need a dozen washings to be called white - revealing guns now, turning to bring the dark muzzles to bear on the two men. Luck dove forward, unhampered with no table between them, and grabbed Claire before his adopted brother could stand.

Without Luck's interference, Claire probably would have easily dodged the bullets. He'd have spun away, laughing, and then come at them with death in his step. But all Luck really thought about was the very real fact that Claire was in danger - a mere mortal despite his solipsistic faith in his indestructibility - and Luck was not.

They hit the ground hard, Luck's greater weight bearing Claire down. The bullets burrowing into his back felt like hard punches, one, two in the middle of his back, and then the third, which blasted through the back of his skull and sent him down instantly into insensibility.

There was a confused impression of gentle hands moving him, rolling him over so his eyes stared unblinking up towards the blue, cloudless sky. Then screaming, running feet and the pleas of the dying overwhelming the sound of the fleeing patrons.

Luck sat up.

He straightened his tie, running a hand back to tame his hair and touching the back of his head to reassure himself. Solid and whole, without even the stickiness of blood remaining.

It was growing quiet. Luck got to his feet, less shaky than he might have expected to be, and watched as Claire pressed his pocketknife lazily into the remaining man's mouth. He gave a few choked sounds and blood bubbled up in a froth around Claire's fist. Had he cut out his tongue?

There was a quiet intensity to the young man, at odds with his usual happy exuberance. Was this normal when he worked? Luck had never watched Claire kill before, though he'd seen Berga beat men to death and studied at Tick's side. Was this curious seriousness because of the personal nature of the attack?

"Vino," Luck said quietly, hoping to reassure him. "I'm all right."

"Yes," he said simply, and glanced over his shoulder, flashing Luck a grin. "I'm almost done." And indeed even now the man was shaking and shuddering, his eyes rolling back in his head and his feet drumming a tattoo on the flagstones as he drowned in his own blood.

The sound of his head hitting the ground was like the impact of an underripe melon as Claire released him and stood up. He grabbed a linen napkin off of a nearby table and wiped blood from his hands and the pocket knife, then slipped the latter away and dropped the napkin on the floor. He glanced around, stretching to make his back crackle, then looked at Luck again.

The two men stared at each other across the patio, Claire bouncing a little on his toes, and Luck simply waiting for he knew not what.

"We should go," Luck said finally. "Police."

Claire grinned again and they turned as one and set off down the street, ducking sideways into an alley and cutting across to another street when the police cars flashed past, sirens wailing.

"You didn't tell me," Claire said suddenly as they cut across through another side street, making their way back towards the house on foot rather than risking the close crowd of a trolley car. Claire had blood on his shoes and the cuffs of his pants, and it could be noticed.

"Tell you what?" Luck said cautiously.

Claire just hummed, and Luck felt ashamed. After a few more steps, he said. "I'm sorry, Claire. It happened while you were away. It must have been shocking to see."

"Oh, I knew," Claire said brightly. "At least, I suspected. There have been rumours about it, and I played with one on the train." He smiled at Luck, who relaxed. "It makes me glad that I don't have to worry about you anymore."

Luck couldn't help but stop walking to stare at him. "Worry about me?"

Claire gestured vaguely. "Sometimes things happen, even though I don't want them to. I always wondered if you'd all be alive when I wasn't here to make sure of it." He glanced sidelong at Luck. "Can I see?"

Luck blinked. He always felt a little slow when talking to Claire, trying to follow thought patterns only half-voiced when the younger man assumed he would understand perfectly. "See what?" he had to ask. At least Claire never seemed annoyed or disappointed when he failed to follow his train of thought.

The younger man took a quick step towards him. Luck didn't consciously notice the eager bloodlust in Claire's expression until he realized that he'd taken a step back, and his back touched the brick wall of the building behind him.

Claire's fingers touched his throat, the rapid flutter of Luck's pulse beating against his fingertips like a caged animal. "You," he whispered.

Luck felt frozen, transfixed, though there was no malice in Claire's smile. "Claire, I don't know..."

"It'll be okay," Claire said, the warmth of his fingers drifting to the back of Luck's neck and toying with the short hairs there. Luck shivered convulsively, unable to stop himself. "I just want to try. Please?"

"You want to kill me?" Luck asked, in a slightly strangled tone, thinking of some of the ways that Claire had killed over the years. Vicious, agonizing ways. "And watch me heal?"

"Kill you?" The shock on Claire's face was almost comical. "No, no, no... I would never do that." Suddenly his lips pressed to Luck's, and his lithe body moulded itself to Luck's broader frame, and Claire all but wriggled with delight and eager desire as Luck's arms went around him automatically.

They kissed for a few minutes, safe from observation in the dark recess of the alleyway, and then Claire whispered against Luck's lips. "I just...want to hurt you a little."

"Oh god," Luck groaned, and Claire beamed.

The Caraggio wasn't far, but Luck regretted the choice when they entered the bar and a dozen men scattered around three tables looked up interestedly and then jumped to their feet in a general scraping of chairs to give their respect to the youngest Gandor brother.

Luck smiled and pressed some hands and told everyone to go on and pick up their cards, while Claire rocked on the balls of his feet and whispered into Luck's ear.

"Third floor. It'll be quietest there."

Unwillingly, Luck's eyes darted to the heavy door towards the back of the room instead. Many times he'd sat drinking and playing cards in this room while screams issued from behind that door. He was queerly grateful to Claire for not simply taking him in there - if he were going to scream, he didn't want any of these men to hear him. For so many reasons.

Soon they were out of the eyes of the men and climbing the steps. Through a door, which was closed and locked by Claire, and then up another set of narrow stairs to a small space little more than a loft tucked under the eaves of the building.

An open box of smuggled liquor bottles was set incongruously next to a cot placed there for the sole purpose of giving the Gandors and their lieutenants a safe place to sleep off their drunkenness if they overindulged. It was rarely used in actuality, given the difficulty of carrying Berga - the most frequent offender - up the narrow stairs to the third floor. Nevertheless, a faint odour of spilled liquor still lingered over the dry smells of must and dust.

Luck half-turned towards Claire, a question on his lips, but caught only a glimpse of the eager light in his eyes before the blade slid through Luck's clothes and into his right kidney as if the barrier wasn't even there.

As shock hit his system, Luck grunted and stumbled, his knees sagging like tires with slow leaks. The knife was a bright point of pain, the centre of a web that radiated outwards through his body with every breath. But warm arms went around him and held him with Claire's surprising strength, supporting him as he staggered to the cot.

A sound like a sob escaped Luck as Claire guided him to sit and the movement opened the wound wider, the knife biting deeper and slicing smoothly through organ and muscle.

"Shh..." Claire whispered, his lips hot and soft, pressing against the shell of Luck's ear.

"It...hurts, damn you," Luck murmured without much heat, though the words were ground out between clenched teeth.

"It's trying to heal," Claire said, fascinated. "Look, the knife is coming out already, and the blood is going back in."

Luck couldn't look at his own back, of course, but he could feel the pain lessening even now. He drew a slower breath, filling his lungs and finding his vision and mind clearing.

But Claire took hold of the knife and drove it further in, and the breath rushed out of him again explosively.

"God, Claire," he gasped.

"I guess I've ruined your coat and shirt," Claire said apologetically.

"Fuck the coat," Luck growled. He should have been angry at Claire. He _wanted_ to be angry, to fight back, to stop this.

"I'll make it up to you, don't be mad," Claire said, impossible to hate as he climbed into Luck's lap and straddled it like an eager prostitute.

Luck raised his hand automatically to push him off, but Claire caught it firmly. He didn't resist as Claire drew the hand down and placed it over the handle of the knife, though his muscles screamed as the knife shifted at the moment and savaged new places inside him.

The handle was wooden, shaped by use, the finish rubbed off in patches. Claire held Luck's fingers, forcing them around the handle, and pushed the knife back in again. Luck cried out this time, his body convulsing as nauseating waves of agony rippled up his spine.

"Hold it there," Claire said, an edge entering his tone. "Hold it tight. Don't let it come out."

Luck was sweating, shaking. The handle of the knife was slippery and hard to hold onto as blood flowed out of the wound and sweat sprung out on his palm, but Luck nodded and tried to swallow.

Claire's lips covered his, soft and eager. "Good... good. It'll be okay, Luck."

And then Claire slid down and landed with a thump on his knees on the floor.

Luck bent forward a little, trying vainly to relieve some of the pain radiating out from that single point in his back. The pain refused to lessen with the knife held in place, nerves sparking madly as they tried to heal and then were cut anew. He bowed his head over Claire's, as the younger man opened his pants and put his lips around Luck's flaccid cock. He shuddered at the intimate touch, and then cried out again as the movement jarred the knife and it slipped from his fingers momentarily.

"I...I must be crazy," he gasped. He couldn't convince his lungs to take in a full breath no matter how he tried. "God, I'm crazy to let you do this."

Against all odds, Luck was hardening in Claire's mouth, and the pleasurable sensations battled with the pain, spiralling together and making him shudder and whimper like a child, too overwhelmed to be embarrassed.

He cried out again as Claire lifted his head, leaving him bereft and making the pain flare into the foreground of his consciousness again. "You're not crazy," Claire said in a soothing, maddeningly sweet tone. He pushed up, their lips meeting fleetingly again. "You're so kind, to indulge me."

"Kind?" Luck echoed incredulously, but Claire's lips were hot and wet around his cock again, and anything more he might have said was swallowed in a helpless, visceral moan.

Claire was unbelievably talented with his tongue, though Luck shouldn't have been surprised - Claire was talented at everything he did, going at it with supreme confidence that somehow translated into wild success rather than hubris. Luck cried out and groaned and writhed under Claire's attentions, the knife slipping between his fingers, but somehow he managed to hold it in place despite the way it sliced and sent new flares of pain through him with every tiny movement.

And he couldn't stop those movements no matter how he might have liked to. He was helpless to resist the waves of ecstasy that spiralled up and through him, until it crashed over him and he spilled himself with a shout into Claire's eager mouth.

He had to have let go of the knife as the orgasm made him convulse and lose control of his limbs, though he didn't remember doing it. When he came back to himself, still gasping raggedly but feeling more comfortably drained than anything else, the wound had healed and the pain was gone.

Claire pushed himself up to sit next to him on the bed, resting his chin on Luck's shoulder and blowing experimentally on the side of his neck, making him shiver and moan afresh. Claire's own pants were also open, and a certain air of smug satisfaction told Luck that he'd taken care of his own arousal and wasn't feeling in the least bit frustrated.

"Why do I let you do these things?" Luck murmured, slipping his arms around Claire and burying his nose in the soft red hair.

Claire just grinned against his neck and shrugged, and Luck supposed that was answer enough.


End file.
